


A Man of Many Talents

by IBidtheMoon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-29 12:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBidtheMoon/pseuds/IBidtheMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets injured during a hunt and Benny volunteers to put him back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean was out of practice. At least, Dean was out of practice in the sense that every fiber in him was no longer constantly ready for a fight and it took more thought than well honed survival instinct to get him moving. He was out of practice in the sense that he was out of Purgatory. It caught up to him after a round in a vampire nest about an hour due west of Baton Rouge. He and Benny had tracked the place down, but when they got there it was clear right away that they must have missed something. The place had been cleared out before they got there. After one sweep, it looked completely abandoned, like all the vamps had picked up and went a different way. Dean had been ready to say so when three of them had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Two of them had blades as long as their arms and looked like they might even know how to use them.

"Thought you'd gone and ran scared on us," Benny drawled, tightening his grip on his own knife. "Here I was thinkin' you forgot all your manners. You know what they say..." he began to circle. "Always greet your guests," one of the men dove at him but Benny was too quick, and in one fluid motion had opened up a gash that left his head hanging like it was on a hinge, "at the door." Before he could turn around, vampire number two had started after Dean. The first blow was met even – Dean raised his Purgatory stick and stopped the swing dead in the air. In the split second battle for leverage, he lifted his foot and sank his boot into the vampire's stomach. It looked like that was going to buy him time. The vampire stumbled back and nearly went down, but Dean miscalculated just how far away he'd gotten. As the vampire went reeling, he slashed sideways with his blade. Adrenaline left Dean thinking he'd only managed to rip his shirt.

It wasn't until a few minutes later, when Benny had dispatched number three and Dean had number two's head rolling a few inches from his feet, that he saw the dark blood soaking through his own t-shirt. "You're slowin' down, brotha. Goin' topside has got you all out of shape." "Fuck off," Dean muttered, trying to ignore just how fast the blood was coming. He took a few steps to the side and lifted up the bottom of his shirt just to see how bad the damage was. A long, nasty looking cut stretched from his ribs nearly to his belly button, and the waistband of his jeans was already sticky with blood. "Son of a bitch..." His back was still to Benny, so he didn't see the sudden change that came over the vampire's face when the scent of blood reached him. The fangs hadn't come out. He had at least managed to keep that part under lock and key, but only barely. His voice was deeper than usual when he spoke, and there was an obvious struggle to get the words out. "Ya alright over there?" "I'll be fine. Let's get the hell out of here. Think they were the only ones home."

Dean almost made it to the door. Almost. The blood kept coming no matter how tightly he pressed his shirt against the cut. Moving made it worse. His vision started to go black at the edges. Benny was a few feet behind, trying to talk himself down, when he saw him stumble. He got there just in time to keep the hunter's skull from hitting the ground.

Something like eight hours later, Dean opened his eyes to see a small room practically screaming for a paint job. It was sparsely populated, home only to a rickety looking nightstand, a lamp, and the bed that he had apparently been sleeping on. It was no memory foam, but he'd definitely slept on worse. He started to sit up and winced immediately as he felt a sharp pull in his midsection. "Don't you go tearin' up my handywork. Used up all the thread puttin' you back together the first time." Dean pushed away the blanket and looked down. A neat row of black stitches sealed the gash. "You did this?" "Come on now, don't sound too surprised. I'm a man of many talents." Benny smirked at him, but there was something else in the expression. Relief, maybe worry- like he hadn't been completely sure Dean was going to wake up again. "Next you're gonna tell me you knitted the pillowcase, too," Dean shot back, relaxing a little now that he was sure where he was. The slow rocking motion of the whole place told him one thing: houseboat. Benny's houseboat.

"You can keep on bein' a smartass or you can eat. Your choice." "Eat what?" Dean's interest was piqued. He didn't know how long he'd been out, but he did know that whatever smell was wafting through the place was making his stomach growl. "Felt a little bad you never got any of Lizzy's gumbo, so..." Benny disappeared around the corner, and Dean could hear the sound of dishes clanking against one another. The boat had enough of a kitchen to get the job done, judging by the giant bowl of steaming hot gumbo Benny came back with in a few minutes. "Gonna have to help me out a little, brotha." He motioned for him to sit up, and once he had Dean reached for the bowl and settled it on his lap.

He stared at it long enough to make Benny cross his arms. "Somethin' wrong? Stitches ain't comin' undone are they?" Dean shook his head. "No, no, it's uh..." he fiddled with the spoon, stirred it around the bowl a few laps. "You made this for me?" Benny quickly shrugged off the question. "Gotta get your strength up. You were fightin' like an old man back there." Dean managed a little laugh and finally took a huge bite. "Holy crap," his mouth was still full, but it was too good to wait. "Told you, I'm a man of many talents."


	2. Gone Fishing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things PROGRESS. Slowly. Sort of.

Benny didn't push it too far with the whole “caretaking” thing, probably because he knew Dean would tell him to fuck right off. He stuck with little things – bringing him drinks, the casual question of whether or not he wanted another blanket. Once or twice he caught Dean looking bemused, but for the most part he accepted the gestures gratefully (or at least without grousing). “So what do you do for fun on this deathtrap? I'm guessing it didn't come wired up with HBO,” the hunter asked after awhile, obviously getting restless just sitting around. “Ain't here too much. It's just a place to come back to once in awhile,” Benny told him, flipping through a book with so much dust on the pages a small cloud of it erupted when he closed it. “Guess I'm not bein' a very good host, huh? There is one thing, though...” He got to his feet and stepped out onto the deck, out of sight. 

Dean twisted, holding onto the stitched up area, and stood to follow him out. He found Benny crouching in front of what looked like a tackle box, rummaging through things he couldn't see. “Shouldn't be strainin' yourself, brother.” Dean just rolled his eyes, “Pretty sure I'll live.” “Well since you're insisting on bein' out here, put yourself to some use and grab a couple o'them poles.” Without turning around, Benny gesture over to the side. Sure enough, a group of fishing poles were leaned up together against the cabin. Some of them even looked like they were in half-decent condition. 

“Oh, I am all over that,” Dean grinned, looking so boyish for a few seconds that Benny barely recognized him as the same bloodied man he'd slashed through Purgatory with for a year. He walked back over holding the best two poles of the bunch and held one of them out for the vampire, who finally got back to his feet holding a cup that read Live Bait. “You wanna stick around the dock for a little while or you feelin' up for a little trip?” 

The entire time Benny was driving, Dean hung around on the deck looking over the side to see the water lap at the side of the boat as it cut through. “How far are we going?” “Oh, I figured we'd just head on until we felt like stoppin'.” Benny had expected some kind of protest, for Dean to say that he had some other place to be, something that needed to be done. Instead, he received silence, and Dean just started toying with the fishing line, following it up with his fingers. They went on for an hour or so before stopping in an alcove where the water was calm enough for the boat to sit relatively still. 

“So you just...hang out and fish?” Dean asked once they lines were baited and cast. They had pulled up two relatively sturdy chairs onto the deck and Dean had his legs stretched out in front of him. “Once in awhile. It ain't as boring as it probably sounds,” Benny laughed, watching the water around his line. It was dead still. “Nah. I think I could get used to it. Couldn't tell you when I ever had time to just sit and do...this, I guess,” Dean shrugged. A half hour went by with nothing. No bites. No tugs. No hint of a fish anywhere. “Are there even fish in this freaking water?” The outburst came so suddenly that Benny couldn't hide his bark of a laugh. “Come on, brother, you know what they say about patience and virtues and all that.” Dean's tongue snaked out over his lips. “Well my virtues are far and few between, so something better bite that damn worm pretty soon.” Benny's laughter died down to a little half-smile as he shrugged, “Aw, I dunno, I think you got a few virtues here and there.” 

Whether it was Dean's impatience or just the right time for the fish to get hungry, within an hour they had caught enough for dinner. “You know how to clean these things proper?” Benny asked him, holding out the last fish toward him. “Yeah, I got it.” Once he'd handed off the fish and made it back to the wheel, they were off again and heading toward the docks. By the time they got there, Dean was wiping his hands clean. Benny took a moment to look impressed. “Not bad, kid.” Dean arched an eyebrow. “Kid? What are you smoking?” “I said what I said. Now hand those over and you might get to eat 'em tonight.” 

While Benny got everything ready, Dean decided to inspect the damage again. He stepped into the room off the kitchen and peeled off his shirt, examining the stitches a little more thoroughly than he had when he'd woken up. They were holding up fine, but damn did he need a shower. Benny must have washed the blood off his torso as he was patching him up, but that could only go so far. “So how does a guy get a bath around here? Jump over the side?” he called out, and Benny appeared in the little archway that led to the kitchen. “Well it ain't the lap of luxury or anything but,” he motioned toward the bathroom. Sure enough, it doubled as a shower. 

Luxurious or not, the hot water felt so good that Dean actually groaned when it touched him. All the kinks from the fight felt like they were melting away, and he would've been happy to just stay right there for an hour. The boat, as it turned out, had other plans. The water started to run cold in ten minutes and Dean called it quits. He grabbed a towel, knotted it at his waist, and came out with dripping hair. “You're getting' the floor all wet,” he was immediately chided, and when he looked up and saw Benny standing there he could have sworn he looked flushed. Was that a thing? Could vampires do that? 

Before he could think too much on it, a plate was pushed toward him, piled high with fried fish. “What about you?” “Don't you worry about me. I'm set.” A glance at the trash can showed him an empty blood bag. Benny must have waited until he was in the shower to drink, so he decided not to say a word about it. Instead, he sat down with the plate in front of him and started in on it. A few bites later, with his mouth full, he looked up and said, “Man, you gotta show me your secrets.” “Now don't go getting' ahead of yourself.” 

It turned out that Benny did have a radio stashed in the boat, and he procured it from somewhere while Dean was eating. After a few seconds of poking around, the local news filled the cabin. Benny kept right on listening even after Dean had eaten all he could possibly stand and had taken the dishes to the sink to wash up. 

He was just about to dry the plate when he heard Benny stand up. A moment later, a thick arm circled his waist, and he felt a handle settle on the space just below the stitches. He'd been too immediately tempted by the food to bother getting completely dressed, so everything just then was skin-to-skin. Dean utterly, completely froze up, gripping the plate so hard his fingers hurt. “Benny...what the hell are you doing?” Heat crawled up his neck and settled in his ears, making them burn. “Checkin' up on you,” Benny spoke slowly, letting his fingers move closer to the stitches. “You say when.” 

Dean swallowed, struggling to get his head on straight. It wasn't happening. The only thing he could think to say was, “Are you playing chicken with me?” His voice was nowhere near as steady as he had hoped. “That what they're callin' it these days?” Every fiber in him knew that he should push Benny away, tell him to go fuck himself, and maybe give him a punch square to the jaw for his efforts. But he did none of that. He felt fingers move gingerly over the stitches then trail down, inch by inch, until Benny had hold of the towel at his waist. “Hmm...?” he hummed, and he was standing so close that Dean felt the sound vibrating low in his chest. He was giving him one more shot at saying no.

Dean did not take it.


End file.
